


only you, only me (let's tear these vows to shreds)

by Gingersnaps (K___P)



Series: It's not a war crime if you didn't set up the Geneva conventions [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Manberg-Pogtopia War on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), November 16th finale, Platonic Soulmates, Smoking, Twins Wilbur Soot & Technoblade, Wilbur Soot Angst, Wilbur Soot-centric, Winged Wilbur Soot, also tech n wilbur think of each other as twins, but only a lil, haha angst machine go brrr, no thoughts head empty just family dynamic, not bio in this one tho, only very lightly mentioned dw, sorry lads - Freeform, those two tags are something that can be so personal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:46:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K___P/pseuds/Gingersnaps
Summary: the night before the festival, two soulmates sit on a beach. one is desperate to leave, the other insists they stay.it is a decision they may or may not come to regret.OR: the one in which schlatt n wilbur are platonic soulmates and everything gets a little bit worse at the finale
Relationships: Jschlatt & Wilbur Soot, No Romantic Relationship(s), Philza & Wilbur Soot, Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Series: It's not a war crime if you didn't set up the Geneva conventions [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1991350
Comments: 14
Kudos: 89





	only you, only me (let's tear these vows to shreds)

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally posted this when I meant to save as draft 😭😭 pain is all I feel
> 
> ANYWAY abt this au . basically your life is linked with your soulmates, so after the 3rd death you both die . however it can be immediately or days after . pain is also shared, though a little muted . I think it's p self explanatory in the fic but just a heads up
> 
> nothing graphically gory or violent happens, but I mention pain a lot near the end, so skip paras as you see fit . there's also mentions of alcohol & they smoke a bit at the start, but I don't know shit abt any of that so it's rly vague
> 
> enjoy !!! I have spent like 2 hours on this I hate it here

"y'know, you could cut back on the drinking every once in a while." schlatt's head doesn't turn from where he'd gazing off into the water, listening to sand crunch under wilbur's boots. "it'd save both of us the headache, methinks."

his soulmate scoffed, carding a hand carelessly through his scruffed hair. "look, pal, if you had to deal with quackity all day, you'd be holed up in your office drinkin' yourself silly by lunch."

he can't argue with that, so he instead comes to sit next to schlatt. as he settles on a flattish rock, waves lapping at their feet, he reaches in his pocket. drawing out a box of cigarettes, he waves one in the vague direction of schlatt. a peace offering.

and, as always, schlatt takes one, lighting both his and wilbur's in a single deft movement. it's an old routine, now, a song and dance practiced over the course of the years they've known each other. neither know when, exactly, it became a habit. when it became a lifeline.

(they both know when it began, though. they were playthings of the sky gods before they were people, they were new toys before they were children. the sky gods were cruel masters, keeping a tight leash on their throats.

anything and everything they did seemed to be dictated by the sky gods' will. they could do no wrong, no matter how hard they tried. and, god, did they try; everything, anything, just to get away from the obsession of the gods.

until, one day, they came across a civilisation. it was small, barely one hundred people, and made almost entirely from dirt and wood cobbled together. buildings were mismatched and rushed, farms spread haphazardly into the distance, and people ran amok with barely any order.

it had been the first time they'd seen anyone other than each other in what could've been years, and they were elated. clasping hands to avoid getting separated, they took off into the rolling fields, grabbing carrots that sprouted from the ground as they passed.

that night, as the moon shed her gentle light onto the sleeping civilisation, they sat back on a roof. the sky gods hadn't interfered at all with their time at the civilisation; instead, it had felt as if there was ... someone else, watching over them.

not quite benevolent, not quite cruel. simply watching, taking those who caused too much trouble to an inescapable prison in the sky before turning around and feeding the rest of the settlement. though they had never heard them speak, a deep sense of respect ran through the community.

it was different to anything they'd experienced with the sky gods. there was an unnerving sense of willingness, of dedication to a task that could easily be ruined. and for what? an invisible god's approval?

laughter from the streets broke wilbur from his reverie, and he pushed himself up on the rooftop, glancing over at the farm fields. a group of people, at least sixty or so, were gathered there, laughing and singing. the majority seemed to be farmers, but he could see the hunters and builders there too.

schlatt seemed to have the same idea as him, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. the grin that spread across his face seemed to be enough of an answer, and the two teens ran off into the night, a bright glint in their eye.

during the time they spent there, someone had offered them a cigarette, smiling easily when they said they had no clue what it was. they explained what it did, and how people smoked, face open and warm in the light of the campfire.

as they found out the morning after, the sky gods were not pleased. they razed the settlement to the ground and took them back, dropping them on a platform in the sky.

the two of them made a promise, from then on, to do everything they could to piss off the gods.)

as they watched the waves crash against the rocks at their feet, they let themselves relax, ever so slowly. while, yes, they were on opposite sides of a war, in the moment they were just two toys of malevolent beings.

differences and assassination attempts tended to be brushed to the side in their walk of life. 

"i think..." wilbur's voice was quiet, barely being carried over the cawing of the seabirds. "i think, tomorrow, we're gonna take back l'manburg. tomorrow, i'm blowing it sky-high."

schlatt doesn't bother to respond, watching the moon's reflection ripple on the still water. there are twin spots of light from the cigarettes, soulfire-blue and flickering, and he focuses on those instead of his soulmate beside him.

his joints ache with a pain that is not his own, flashes of wilbur's childhood sparring, of their time spent under the sky gods' thumbs. a part of him is annoyed at the sensations, ever-present and borderline unrelenting, that make his fingers shake and, on some days, render him incapable of moving.

he always waves it off as a hangover, and it's only a lie some of the time. in a petty sort of payback, he's happy to give wilbur killer headaches that he knows will just piss him off.

(another, smaller part of him is grateful for the omnipresence of the pain. it shows that he's alive, and that wilbur is alive too. they'd grown to rely on the feelings, sometimes tapping out bruises when separated. just to know that the other was _there_.

the sky gods had seen this dependence, had seen their coping mechanisms, unhealthy as they were. had seen how the link from the soulbond comforted them.

one of their favourite games became separating them, making them blind and removing the bond. the first time it had happened, they'd only been apart for an hour or so. the moment they reunited, soulbond restored, they'd collapsed into a hug and hadn't moved.

the time had only lengthened, hours becoming days becoming weeks. and every time, they would grip each other tightly, refusing to release the other.)

he realises he's been silent for a while. wilbur's expression is pinched, cigarette hanging forgotten from his fingers. there's something conflicted in his eyes, watching the ripples of the water and pretending he could see fish.

"and you're tellin' me this because...?" his voice is low to match wilbur's. "all this does is give me time to prepare. i got rid of the tnt before, i can do it again."

wilbur is silent. his fingers crush the cigarette, just a little.

"y'know, wil, i'm willing to bet tommy 'nd techno wouldn't be all too happy that you told me that. why, i'd almost say you want me to stop you."

a breath. a pause.

"maybe i do, schlatt. maybe i do." wilbur's grip on the mangled cigarette is white-knuckled. "i want this to be all over, but i also don't know if i even want l'manburg back. it's-"

he breaks off, eyes flickering to his soulmate. schlatt barks out a bitter laugh. "it's ruined? destroyed? you can just tell me i fucked it all up, y'know. i won't hold it against you."

the dryness of his voice forces a snort from wilbur, relaxing without even meaning to. he stretches, shoving the cigarette into his pocket, heedless of the burns on his fingers. schlatt grumbles beside him, shoving an elbow into his ribs.

"okay, yeah, you were a real piece of shit."

"oh for sure, the absolute worst."

"worst lawfully-elected president l'manburg's ever had."

"hey, the _only_ lawfully elected president l'manburg's ever had."

for a moment, pushing and shoving each other by the water's edge, they can let their responsibilities fall away. they are not president schlatt, emperor of manburg, and wilbur soot, disgraced exilee of his own nation.

no, they are just blades and virgo, just a boy with too-big horns and too-small wings. 

but the moment cannot last forever, and eventually their smiles peter out to something bittersweet, something nostalgic, as they turn their eyes out to sea.

"eh, either way, no matter what happens tomorrow," schlatt begins, faux-casual, "i'm pretty sure techno won't let me leave here alive. he's pretty anti-government, ri-"

"then let's leave!" wilbur's voice is frantic, bordering on a sob, head whipping round to schlatt. emotions flick through his eyes too fast to name, but the raw desperation in the depths feel like a punch to the gut.

"hey, wil, what-?"

"please, schlatt, we have to leave now, i-" he chokes, stumbling on his words. "i don't want them to hurt you, i couldn't live with myself if they hurt you, _please_ , schlatt-"

" _wil_." at the sound of his voice, wilbur's head snaps up. there are tears in the corners of his eyes, eyebrows furrowed and upturned. "we can't leave, not now."

"but-"

"what about the rebellion? you can't just- just leave them behind with no explanation, you know that, right?"

his soulmate swallows back a sob. "if- if i just explained it to them, if i left a note, then maybe-"

"then what? c'mon, man, we both know they'll just hunt us down. d'you really think we can escape _technoblade_?"

a flicker of mock annoyance crosses wilbur's face. "i could, absolutely. you just throw gold behind you, it's simple."

he snorts, before slapping himself. "hey, stop makin' me laugh when we're being serious. what do i have to do to make you abandon the whole 'running away' plan?"

for a moment, schlatt wonders if wilbur's stubbornness is going to prevail, if he's going to say _nothing at all, c'mon, let's go._ but it doesn't; instead, he slumps, as if all the fight drained out of him in a second.

"just- please, schlatt, promise me you won't die. no matter what else happens, please, _please_ stay alive for me."

"...sure. yeah, virgo, i'll stay alive, s'long as you promise me the same."

schlatt is on his last life. so is wilbur. the lies fall from their tongues with ease.

"of course, blades." he rises, brushing sand off his trenchcoat. the moon continues to bless them with her gentle light, even as she descends, reaching down towards the horizon.

his shoulders hunch a little more with every step towards pogtopia.

\---

techno watches wilbur carefully as they surround schlatt. for the last parts of the battle, he'd been completely out of it. his gaze had been unfocused, staring off into one, constant direction at the slightest of lulls in the battle.

(he'd learn, later, that it was the direction of the camarvan. he'd learn, later, that his stumbles had been from heartburn that wasn't entirely his.)

his face is pinched, but remains steady, eyes fixed on schlatt as if the hybrid would have answers to an unknown question.

schlatt dies; a heart attack. it's oddly anticlimactic, for a man who caused so much pain, to his brothers and their land. but what's done is done, and he begins to turn on his heel to leave through one of the camarvan's (many) gaping holes.

but then he catches a glance of wilbur's fist clenched into his shirt, right over the left side of his chest (right over his heart-), breath coming in short, sharp wheezes. his eyebrows are furrowed, gaze burning into the floor.

nobody else has noticed. he makes a scene anyway, keeping their attention away from his friend (brother). as they all exit the camarvan, laughing and cheering, wilbur follows. he stumbles, just a little, but quickly rights himself.

it does not stop the unease growing in his gut.

(he and phil are soulmates. they found out at the founding of the antarctic empire, when someone had managed to catch phil in the arm with an arrow, and he had felt the pain. from then on, no injuries were able to be hidden, and their partnership progressed smoothly.

so are tommy and tubbo. for days on end, tommy had complained about freezing despite the sunlight being warm. they'd stumbled upon the boy in the box completely by accident, and from then on they had been inseparable.

nobody know who wilbur's soulmate was. there were many suspects, of course; the most common were sally, his elusive fish-wife, and fundy, his not-really but technically-sort-of son.

naturally, there were some other ideas, namely tubbo's wild theories that it could be dream, and then schlatt. they'd all laughed him off, even as his brows furrowed, glancing through brown hair at the distant form of their leader.

for some reason, techno had never asked. he had never asked his brother where his soulmate was, or if they were good for him, or even who they were.

he hadn't seen it as important. had figured that they'd have all the time in the world after the war.

now, gripping a guitar case with _to loverboy -s_ scrawled across the inside, he feels himself sicken.)

\---

losing a soulmate is one of the most painful experiences one can go through. for every death a soulmate goes through, the pain doubles, triples. the final death is by far the most harrowing.

wilbur had never been able to properly appreciate the depths of the agony that resulted from a truly severed soulbond. the games played by the sky gods paled in comparison to the reality.

but now, he could feel the very second schlatt's heart stopped. it was mirrored in his own chest, heartbeat stuttering in a moment that almost sent him to the floor. the shocked cries of his allies sounded distant and foggy, as if he was trapped underwater with no way out.

intense pressure built up in his chest, blocking his lungs, stabbing pains shooting through his heart. even as schlatt's body stilled, agony lanced through his limbs, and he clutched at his chest through his shirt.

getting from the camarvan to the podium was a blur, a hand just barely brushing across his back. it disappears in a flash of pink, and he forces a smile onto his face as he declares tommy president, and then tubbo.

throughout both of their speeches, he struggles to breathe, desperately trying to keep up a facade. in the corner of his eye, he can see bright green - dream, his mind supplies - angled towards him.

oh, right. he didn't have a choice in this, did he?

tubbo is still speaking, he thinks, and everyone has their faces upturned towards him. their features are smudges of colours; the bright blondes of tommy and niki, the almost offensive orange of fundy's coat.

he steels himself as he stands, willing himself not to sway as the pain in his head doubles. he mumbles something to the tommy-shaped blob beside him, and loops around the crowd to the button room.

it's muscle memory by now, even as his muscles involuntarily tense up. it feels as if lightning is pulsing through his body with each step, and all he can think is _god, i hate schlatt._

\---

phil arrives. he's not sure how, and he's not sure why, but he does. even his low voice, controlled and short, sends stabbing pains through his head. 

he's speaking, now, a speech that he's had planned ever since the realisation that he was not one of the heroes. phil lets him speak for the most part, only interrupting a few times to dispute his claims. he doesn't care.

in the end, he's going to die, and l'manburg is going to die along with him. his fate was sealed the moment he realised that schlatt was left alone with one too many bottles of alcohol. his fate was sealed the moment his allies decided to watch the first true death with a morbid curiosity.

distant explosions ring through his skull, and he finally turns towards his father. phil's eyes trace his back for a moment longer, no doubt looking at the damaged feathers of his wings, before flicking to his face.

he has a startling moment of clarity, then, in that button room. with the darkness at the edge of his vision slowly but surely setting in, weakness in his knees forcing him to lean on the wall, he's forced to come to terms with the fact that he is, for all intents and purposes, a dead man walking.

phil's gaze seeks out his own. it's getting difficult to stay focused.

(phil feels a pang in his chest at the clear disorientation in his son's eyes. he fights the urge to step forwards, to embrace wilbur, to tell him that everything will be okay soon.

but he doesn't, because wilbur's hand is dangerously close to the button. he doesn't, because he's got a creeping idea that, maybe, it would do more harm than good.

he's only heard about the true loss of soulmates, of soulbonds, in stories. even more rarely, legends of soulbonds reinforced by outside influence. he had never connected the dots between wilbur's sky gods, notorious for cruel games, and the nature of final deaths.)

the ringing in his ears is getting louder and louder, close to deafening, and he screws his eyes shut. even the low light in the button room is too much for his eyes. they feel as if they're burning in their sockets.

he clenches a weak fist and swings it back, knowing it'll connect. as if to prove him right, he hears the soothing hiss of redstone and tnt, feels the brush of feathers over his back as his father tries to protect him one last time.

(but the sight of his son, shaking and close to tears and in _pain_ , cuts something deep inside of phil. he knows, instinctively, that he only has a few minutes of agony left if he's lucky.

it is nigh impossible to heal from a severed soulbond without otherworldly power. no amount of healing pots will save wilbur now.

maybe it was a bad idea for him to take the proffered sword, but the relief in his son's eyes is almost enough to make it worth it.

and then the realisation of what he's done, whose the blood on his hands is, settles in, and he has to force himself not to puke. wilbur's body is already going cold, as if he had been running on borrowed time for hours.)

\---

wilbur opens his eyes to overwhelming brightness and endless darkness. all of the agony from his body is gone, and he relishes the deep breath he takes in. the chronic pain that had haunted him for years had faded, too, much more manageable. for a moment, he marvelled at it, feeling lighter than he had in forever.

and then he remembered what, exactly, had happened to get him there. he remembered who would be waiting for him.

"took you long enough, huh, lover-boy?"

**Author's Note:**

> hey :] I've had like . a few ideas n I'm tryna get em together into enough words to be worth posting . on that topic I had an idea for an au where like . dream resurrects wilbur but it's purposefully botched, so he gets the brainwash treatment . I did some art 4 it and then got clout so I'm scared help I can't draw more than once a month
> 
> also does anyone know the name of this one fic where like . Wilbur gets home frm being w the sky gods for a year? I think abt it a lot but idk if it's been deleted or not
> 
> anyway I hope y'all have a good rest of the weekend <3


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